Demon Rising
by InferiorBeing
Summary: HarryDraco In his second most brilliant plot to date, Lord Voldemort decides to take matters into his own hands and forcefully mold Harry Potter from an enemy to an ally. With no memory of his life before his transformation, Harry asks for only one thing
1. Darkness Rising

**Title:** _Demon Rising  
_**Author:** InferiorBeing  
**Main Pairing:** Harry/Draco with Harry as a combination human/dark-creature. This is not bestiality as Harry is still human in form, but thinking in a more animalistic way. It's the same kind of thing as if I were to write him as only a werewolf or a vampire, except I'm adding more than just one creature to his nature.  
**Side Pairing(s): **very slight Ron/Hermione  
**Rating:** R or M. Rating is for violence, dark themes, and lime scenes.  
**Warnings:** Dark themes, such as death and mutilation, dark rites, and the like. Also the idea of owning another person as a mate, against their will if need be. If this squicks you, please stay far away from this story. I do not write graphically all the time, I tend to romanticize things a lot, so it's not always that obvious. But if you sit back and think afterwards, what you've read will still have these ideas. Also, this is a GOTHIC story, and therefore there _will_ be disturbing bloody scenes, no matter how I romanticize things. There will be no lemons (sorry, can't write complete sex scenes, not one of my strong points) but there will be lots of lime (smutty scenes, just stopping at the boundary of a sex scene).  
**Horcrux Pieces:** (this is my idea of what the seven Horcruxes are/will be and how they will fall into place in my story)  
_Original soul_ – piece that stayed in Tom Riddle's body, destroyed at Harry's infancy  
_Gryffindor's sword_ – piece that is active now, found by Quirrel in Romania  
_Slytherin's locket_ – destroyed by R.A.B. (assumed Dumbledore by Voldemort, R.A.B. only known to Harry)  
_Riddle's Diary _– destroyed by Harry  
_Hufflepuff's cup_ – destroyed by Harry  
_Slytherin's ring_ – destroyed by Dumbledore  
_Nagini_ – only piece still dormant at time when story starts

_Chapter One: Darkness Rising_

Voldemort had always known that his most cunning plan had been the Horcruxes. It was something that he alone had been able to do, to split his soul into seven parts. Of course, now he was down to six. One part had been destroyed during Harry's infancy. Quirrell had then found the second part during a foray to Romania; a part that he had hidden in a relic of Gryffindor. This was the piece of soul attached to a body right now. The other five were still hidden and dormant.

At least they had been, before Dumbledore had found out about them. Voldemort still did not know exactly how Dumbledore had discovered his plan, but the man was already dead, so no pleasure could be derived from planning to destroy him for it. The blasted wizard had already destroyed two of his precious Horcruxes, the locket and his family's ring(1), before he had been killed. Of course, Dumbledore had told Potter about it, and only recently did Voldemort realize the damage that the two of them had caused. Between what Dumbledore had done before his death, and what Harry had now continued after his death, he was down to only one more Horcrux and the active piece of his soul.

Voldemort looked over, almost fondly, at the sinuous creature curled up at the hearth. Nagini. The only Horcrux left. That meant Potter, and his two worthless tag-a-longs would be coming for her soon. _She_ was not worried; she had told him that she knew he would protect her, and she was happy to be used as bait if it meant that her master would destroy the other snake speaker that threatened him.

But Voldemort disagreed. Death would not be coming for Harry Potter any time soon. Death, in all its horrific beauty, was too good for Harry Potter. Harry Potter would _suffer_; he would make sure of it. And, in memory of Albus Dumbledore, he would use Harry Potter to bring the wizarding world to its knees.

And so Voldemort had set about on his second most brilliant strategy: the altering of Harry Potter. A dark and ancient blood spell that he would infuse into Nagini's poison. His darling would then execute the rest of his plan, and he would win.

* * *

Blood magic was an ancient magic that predated the Dark Arts of the more modern times. It's loss was one of the more tragic losses from the burning of the libraries of Alexandria, and wizards had never fully recovered it. Only the necromancers of the Dark Ages had been able to understand the ancient blood magics, but the last of the necromancers had died at the end of the Dark Ages. Only one of his tomes existed, and it had been hidden away until being found by a muggle in Egypt. There was an order issued for it to be brought to the Cairo museum, but it never arrived there. The muggles had tried to hide the fact that it had ever been discovered when no trace of the tome was ever found again. Not that they would have found the tome anyway; it belonged to Lord Voldemort now.

The tome had been written in the ancient language of the Necromancers, a strange combination of Latin and Greek with a melded sound. When spoken, one word blended into the next so that one could only tell where the words ended if you knew the language. Written, it meant that everything was one long word, with a hyphen-like mark to indicate the end of a sentence. But, being fluent in both Latin and ancient Greek, the young Lord Voldemort had set about learning all there was to learn about Necromancy… or, more importantly, how to create a Necromancer.

Necromancers were not taught, like witches and wizards were. Necromancers were born as Necromancers, with all the knowledge of their art dormant inside them. A catalyst was all that was needed to bring forth all this knowledge and power. This was one of the things about Necromancers that had scared the witches and wizards of the Dark Ages. The idea that a child could be a fully-fledged Necromancer was inconceivable to them.

Of course, the dwindling Necromancers had tried to preserve their creed, by finding a way to bear a child as Necromancer. So the story went that this last Necromancer had created a formula for doing so, and had experimented on many children in order to preserve his race. Yet only the children born hideously deformed would survive the birthing process; none of the children survived infancy.

This tome held all the notes that this Necromancer had made about these experiments. He had been very detailed in his descriptions of the pain both the child and mother went through, and the young Voldemort had stored these ideas away as possible torture methods.

In the end, the Necromancer had died after four hundred years of failing to forcefully create another of his kind. Many had hailed him mad, but Voldemort recognized true genius when he saw it. He had set to work trying to revise the spell, and found what he believed as the flaw in the Necromancer's thinking. According to the tome, the child was unborn when the spell was cast on the mother. But with the mother as the intermediate, something interfered with the full spell for infusing the Necromancer powers into the child's soul. Voldemort had planned to test his theory, but his downfall by Harry Potter had stopped this.

Now Voldemort sought a new power from this rite. He sought to expand it, to use the dark rite to create a being never before seen in the world. He recognized the folly of creating a full-fledged Necromancer out of Harry Potter; the boy would kill him instantly and drag all parts of his soul down into hell to rot. The boy needed to be contained, and for that Voldemort turned to the base instincts of the different dark creatures.

In the end, Voldemort decided upon four dark creatures to bind to the Necromancer's rite. The dominant of these was the Basilisk, ensuring the boy's loyalty to him, as he would again be the only snake speaker alive once the rite was completed. Underneath the Basilisk, he placed Dementor and Inferi. While the Dementor part of him would yearn for the souls of the living, the Inferi would long for their life and vitality. The two combined would create a dark hunger to rip out the victim's soul, along with their anima, or life's breath. And to bind the powers together, Voldemort used Werewolf. Obedience to the pack or, in this case, to the cause, would keep Potter from attacking his own Death Eaters and allies.

And so Voldemort created an experiment to rival that of the last Necromancer, as his loyal Nagini, the only creature ever to love him, looked on with approval.

* * *

Harry had fervently hoped that Voldemort hadn't chosen his pet snake as the last Horcrux, but he could no longer hope such. Hermione still suggested that there was another possibility they had overlooked, but Harry knew better. They were not only were they out of ideas, they were out of memories.

The family ring of Slytherin was the first, and it represented all the memories of Lord Voldemort's heritage. The locket he'd hidden in the place of his first act of real evil against other humans; it represented his childhood. Those were the relics of Salazar Slytherin.

The diary was from his school days; given for safe-keeping to one of his servants, one who could be trusted and would know it was important without being aware of the specifics.

The relic from Hufflepuff was the symbol of his early adult life, the beginning of his focused learning of the Dark Arts. It was hidden away in the tomb of the woman who'd first shown it to him.

The relic of Gryffindor had been hidden in Albania, a symbol of his growth there into the Dark Lord Voldemort, mastering the darkest of Dark Arts. This was the piece Quirrell had found, and this was the piece that had been "revived" by the Death Eaters in Harry's fourth year.

The piece that he had originally kept with his body Harry had destroyed as an infant, a symbol of Voldemort's defeat. And Ravenclaw's relic had been hidden away in the Ministry of Magic; a testimony to their recovery after his fall from power.

The only memory left of Voldemort's life was the height of his power. There was no location special to this time, nor was there any relic to associate with it.

Except the snake.

During the height of his power, Voldemort had found Nagini. Harry knew that she was the last Horcrux, no matter what anyone said. Getting to her, however, was a problem. She never left Voldemort's side, if it could be helped, and if she did leave his side, it was to stay in hiding during a dangerous raid. Separating the two long enough for Harry to kill Nagini would be difficult. And before that, he had to find Voldemort.

* * *

"I say that we wait for a raid and then follow them back to wherever they're hiding." Ron had suggested. But Hermione had disagreed, saying that they couldn't follow someone who apparated. While the two bickered over it, Harry ignored them for his own thoughts. There had been a pattern to the Horcruxes, which Dumbledore had analyzed by looking at Voldemort's life. There had to be a similar connection to where Voldemort would choose to operate from.

The place that came to mind immediately was Hogwarts, but Voldemort could not have Hogwarts in his grasp. There would have been much more commotion if the Dark Lord had stormed the school while it was in session, especially after all the debate that opening the school had caused.

Voldemort wouldn't go back to the home of his mother. But, why not that of his father? It would prove his superiority: the very thing that his father despised living in his house, sleeping in his bedroom, eating at his dining room table, ordering the destruction of muggles from his very entrance hall. Yes, that would be Voldemort's revenge(2). Besides, even if Voldemort wasn't there, maybe the house might contain a clue that would lead Harry to him.

* * *

Harry handed Ron his Firebolt and his invisibility cloak wordlessly. They'd done this before when going after the Horcruxes: a mixture of muggle and magic. Hermione gestured to the headsets that they each wore and all three turned them on; these were used to communicate.

Ron would remain outside, cloaked and on the Firebolt, to make sure that if someone caught on to their presence he could tell Hermione and Harry to get out; a strategy had already proven very useful when they had to sneak into the Ministry to get at the only relic of Rowena Ravenclaw. It was Hermione's job to make sure Harry got to the Horcrux and got out after the Horcrux was destroyed. Harry's job to actually destroy the thing.

Ron's "all clear" came, whispered into the headsets. The two Gryffindors on the ground began to move forward to the rusted gates of the Manor.

"Can you see anything, Ron? It's all dark out here." Hermione whispered.

"Yeah. There's a light on inside. The room's only got a back window."

"Can you get any closer?" Harry asked as he and Hermione worked their way up to the side of the house.

"Yeah." There was silence for a minute. "There's a fire going… and… he's gotta be here Harry; the snake's curled up on the rug!"

Harry and Hermione froze, crouched behind a bush in the dark.

"Is there anyone else around?" Hermione asked.

"Not that I can see. If there's anyone else in the house, they're sitting in the dark. The only light is from the room with the fireplace and the snake."

"Out on a raid?" Hermione directed the question at Harry, who shrugged.

"Who knows? Either way, we have to try it."

Harry began to crawl towards the house again, elbowing his way through the overgrown shrubbery and weeds. "Ron, stay as close as you can and tell us if you see a rat anywhere. You know what to look for."

"Right. Don't see Wormtail yet, though."

Harry and Hermione reached the side of the house without anything changing inside of the house. It seemed truly deserted, except for the Horcrux snake.

Flattening himself on the building's wall, Harry watched as Hermione went to work. The house –like any manor, Harry assumed - had very large windows; ballroom quality windows, with many small panes making up their length. Hermione touched the tip of her wand to the edge of the window pain and whispered: "_Avelle_" (lit. "tear away"). A soft, golden light appeared where the wand met glass, and she began to peel the glass away from the frame of the window. She repeated this five times, creating an area without glass just large enough for Harry and herself to crawl through.

Then she touched the tip of her wand to the metal frame and whispered, "_Frange_"(lit. "fracture"). A crack appeared. She repeated it until she could lift the metal framework away from the rest of the window. With a nod to Harry, she crawled into the dark room. Harry followed her with only a moment's glance back at the house grounds to make sure nothing had changed.

"The snake's moved." Ron's voice came, worried. "It's leaving the room. Be careful."

Harry didn't have to see Hermione in the dark to know that she was worried. The snake could go silently anywhere in the dark, while they needed a light. That put them at a great disadvantage.

"Keep going anyway," Harry whispered.

Hermione nodded, even though he couldn't see it, and whispered: "_Ater Lumos_"(lit. "black/dead light"). A small flash echoed from the wand tip and a glow surrounded both her wand and hand. Had the room been lit, the glow would have seemed black to the eye, but in darkness, it gave off a light just bright enough to see.

They had found a ballroom, or what had once been a ballroom. It was a huge room, with windows that stretched from ceiling to the floor. In the dim shadows above, Harry could see a shape that might have been a chandelier, and he could feel the ornate designs of the wooden floor beneath his palms.

"They've been using this house." Hermione said. "They have to be. You were right, Harry."

"What tells you that?" Harry whispered back.

"There's no dust anywhere. This place has been taken care of."

Harry was struck with a thought of another way one could use a large room: for a gathering of Death Eaters. This place would be big enough so that they could all stand, or kneel, or whatever without being crowded.

"Let's go." Harry whispered to Hermione. "We're not getting anywhere sitting here."

The girl nodded and began to creep towards the door, only to stop when a stifled gasp came from behind her. She whirled, her wand lifting the shadows from the area behind her.

Harry Potter sat, seemingly frozen, on the floor. A flicker of movement made her look down to his ankle and she saw a scaled head rising away from the exposed flesh, twin fangs glistening in the dim light.

"Kill… the snake!" Harry gasped and rolled onto the floor.

"But Harry!" Hermione didn't bother whispering. "We have to get you out of here-"

"More important.. to-" Harry's voice melded into a yelp of pain.

Hermione turned back to where the snake had been, but she couldn't see it anywhere.

"What's going on?" Ron's voice sounded in the headset.

"The snake bit Harry!" Hermione cried.

"What? Give him an antidote spell!"

"I don't know what kind of snake it was!" Hermione was hysterical.

Harry didn't hear their talking as he arched off the floor in pain. Something was wrong. He wasn't dying, he was sure of it. Yet… something was… changing. "Hermione-" His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in a long time. "Get out of here… now!"

"What? I've got to help you! Somehow-"

"No! I'm not dying. Something else is happening! Believe me-" Harry screamed, his body twisting into grotesque positions. "Get out!" he yelled, convulsing into a shape that looked almost snake-like in itself. "NOW!"

Hermione had never heard Harry speak this way before. His voice had changed. He rasped more than spoke; his words sounding more like the parseltounge from his second year than real words.

"No, I can't!" Hermione cried. She had to do something, she couldn't just let Harry lie there twisting like that. She brought her light down to Harry's ankle, holding it near the bite. There were no wounds, nothing that looked like a snake bite, just a stain of black decorating the skin above the slightly protruding bone of his ankle. She looked closer, trying to identify the mark. She'd never seen its likeness before. It looked almost like a rune, but backwards… almost like an undoing spell, but so different from one that it couldn't be.

Hermione yelped as someone grabbed her shoulders and threw her off Harry. Looking up she saw bright emerald eyes looking down at her. "_Get. Out. Now!"_ Harry shrieked at her, his voice trailing off into a blood-curdling scream.

"Come on, Hermione!" Ron's voice yelled at her through the head set. Seeing no other option, the girl fled, crawling through the hole in the window as fast as she could. She disappeared almost as soon as she had crawled through; Ron had grabbed her.

Both hovered invisibly on the broom trying to see in the darkened window as they heard the shrieks from inside.

* * *

Harry convulsed on the floor, every limb shaking. Pain raced through his body like lightning, but all he could do was lie there and scream. This was no Cruciatus curse; this was pure pain, the kind that the mind could not shut out.

The world slid out of focus and Harry's cries became gurgles as blood filled his mouth. Four of his teeth, all on the upper jaw, began to grow larger and sharper, pushing the rest of his teeth out of alignment. Harry felt something give, and four small, hard things fell out of his mouth and onto the floor, making a harsh clattering sound.

Harry strained against the wood of the floor, the muffled thuds becoming harsh scratches as his fingers lengthened. Small popping sounds assaulted Harry's ears as the bones themselves shifted and he began to claw at the wood, leaving large scratch marks behind that he could not see.

The pain spread down to his feet where the same thing occurred, and the boy reeled in silent screams.

Harry rasped. Something else was wrong with his mouth. His tongue caught between the front two of the changed canines and he writhed as it stretched, becoming longer and forked.

The boy fell against the floor in whimpers as the convulsions slowed and stopped. Then with one final ear-splitting scream, the boy slumped against the floor in a puddle of his own blood.

* * *

"We have to go in and get him!" Hermione whispered furiously to Ron, who nodded in assent. He began to move the broom closer to the window, but pulled back as he heard the faint 'pop' of someone apparating.

"We can't leave him!" Hermione whispered louder.

"I know but-"

There were more pops as more people apparated. Someone muttered something and the lights roared to life in the ballroom, revealing thirty black-robed, white-masked people and one boy, lying broken on the floor.

**Footnotes:  
****(1)** _the Locket and RAB -_ Since Dumbledore and Harry got the note about the locket, I am going on the idea that Voldemort did not know who it was that originally got to the locket and therefore thinks it was Dumbledore. This person will not come into my story because, even though I have a guess at who it is, I don't want to make any large assumptions like that in the story plot. I am going by the idea that he destroyed the locket and was then killed as he implied in the note, without Voldemort knowing that he destroyed it.  
**(2)** _Riddle Manor - _This is my idea of why Voldemort was using Riddle Manor in Goblet of Fire. I am going to use the idea that he hasn't moved headquarters since that time.

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	2. Damned if you do, Damned if you don't

_Chapter Two: Damned if you do, Damned if you don't_

For a second, no one moved. None of the Death Eaters seemed to know what to do with this strange youth lying face-down and comatose on the floor. Then five loud pops were heard, and five more figures appeared in the room. Four of them were Death Eaters; one of them was Lord Voldemort.

He looked at the body for a moment, then ordered the nearest Death Eater to turn it over and check for a pulse. Snape nodded and reached for the strange boy. There were gasps and hisses as the boy's face was revealed, despite the smears of blood that obscured his features.

"He's alive, my Lord," Snape spoke over the whispers of the other Death Eaters.

Voldemort smiled, causing some of Death Eaters to shift uncomfortably where they stood.

* * *

The room was dark, and slightly damp, with a cool chill in the air. He was underground; the room smelt of dirt and dank. He lay on something soft, but not particularly comfortable. Eyes opened in the dark, and he could see the small confines of the room. In the darkness, everything looked a shade of green. His claws twitched slightly and he began to sit up, wincing as his muscles screamed in protest; but he ignored them. He stretched and yawned as he surveyed the room, his tongue flicking out to taste the air. Stale, yes, but safe enough. There was enough good air in here for him to breathe while he waited for someone to come and open the room's one door and explain to him where he was and why he was here.

The door creaked open, and light flooded the room; his green vision dimmed to normal tones in the new light. A man stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at him with red, reptilian eyes. He returned the man's gaze, stare for stare.

_"I see that you are awake._" The man spoke in his tongue. No human should be able to speak his tongue. "_Come out and let us talk."_

* * *

Voldemort watched as the boy crept slowly out of the shadows and walked up the stairs at an even slower pace, curious, yet wary at the same time. But the boy showed no signs of recognizing the Dark Lord. Voldemort held back a cruel smile; it had worked. The Necromancer's Rite had worked. Harry Potter was dead, reborn as the creature Voldemort had designed: Necromancer, Dementor, Werewolf, Inferi, and Basilisk.

"_Come with me,_" Voldemort hissed, and though the creature hesitated at first, he followed the dark wizard down a barely lit hallway towards a door.

The door opened into what used to be a beautiful garden in the back of Riddle Manor. Now, it was overgrown and covered in weeds. The stone pathways were cracked and covered in moss, lichen, and all manner of fungi.

The creature halted near to the door and sniffed the night air, his forked tongue darting out a second later to taste it as well. Seemingly satisfied, the creature turned to look at the wizard, green reptilian eyes alit with both suspicion and curiosity.

"_For what purpose have you brought me here, snake speaker?"_

"_To discuss your future."_ Voldemort replied. Since you have no past now, he added mentally. No memories of your past life at all.

The creature's eyes narrowed. "_What business of yours is my future?"_

"_None at all, except to ask for your loyalty."_

"_For what reason would you ask for my loyalty, snake speaker? I taste another snake's love for you on your person already. For what purpose would you ask another?"_

"_I wish only for your help in obtaining my goal. In return I will offer you whatever you desire." _

The creature snorted in a canine fashion. "_You would let me ravage the lives of others to control my hunger?"_

_"Not only would I allow you, but I would encourage it."_

The creature was silent for a moment. "_Then I believe that I shall pledge my loyalty to you, snake speaker, but only for as long as you can keep me satisfied. What would you wish of me to prove my loyalty?"_

_"I wish for the death of a werewolf, the alpha of the pack, and I wish for you to take his place."_

The forked tongue darted out again to taste the air, as if already tasting the carnage. _"That will be no challenge for me, snake speaker."_

_"What would you wish of me to prove I shall uphold my promise to you?"_

There was a harsh bark of laughter. "_I have blood which gives no warmth, snake speaker. At a temperature not much lower than this, my body will begin to shut down to keep me alive. I will have need of someone to keep me warm… and to feed off when I do not desire to hunt."_

"_You may pick anyone you want,"_ Lord Voldemort promised. The pact was sealed.

* * *

He eyed the Werewolf alpha with distaste; what a dull creature. He could taste the bloodlust around the wolf, could see his eyes burn with the hatred that called for blood, could smell the deaths of those killed for this lust and the blood that he had spilt. He was not impressed; this creature had no fire, no soul worth destroying. This creature had no spirit, no life worth consuming. This creature was worthless, unfit to live; a slave to his baser lusts and fears.

And though the creature was afraid, he hid it well. It would not do for this 'Greyback' to show his fear in front of the snake speaker's pack of humans. There were more humans now, all respectfully standing away from their alpha and, thus, from himself as well. The werewolf creature sat in the middle of the room, waiting for something to happen. It shifted uneasily, moving its weight from its hind feet to its front back to its hind feet again, unsure of whether or not it would have to fight. Silly, pathetic creature; he would end its pointless existence soon enough.

The snake speaker was making sounds to his pack now, communicating things that he did not understand, nor care about. The human pack was no concern of his, unless they were foolish enough to attack him. Only if they attacked him would he be allowed to consume them. Not that he would bother with some of them; some of them were as pointless as the werewolf creature. His eyes flickered over the faces in white masks, mentally hissing at them for their pathetic existences. Their type of soul would not satisfy, and their blood would not fill his hunger. His eyes took in the second and the third row in much the same manner. There were a few flickers of worth among them, but most were worthless. Then he reached the very back and his eyes stopped, his tongue flickering outward to the air to better taste this particular human's aura.

This human was unlike the others in the snake speaker's human pack; he had fire, an anima (fig. life's breath, lit. soul/spirit) worth keeping. His life was not a waste of a soul. The raw emotion that streamed off him should have filled those around him with despair. The human pack was lucky that they were not sensitive to such things, or they would have been overwhelmed by such emotion. Had humans been attuned to such things, this one individual could have usurped the snake speaker with his emotions alone.

This human's soul had a spark of life, dimmed by some tragedy that cut at his heart and anima. His aura was tainted in fear, sadness, hate, and longing, yet the marks from former emotions had not yet been smothered by the new ones. Joy, love, worth… this human had known such emotions but they had been ripped from him. Yes, this human was worthy of his existence.

And this human would be _his_. But, first, he had to kill the pathetic werewolf creature.

Bored with waiting for the snake speaker to finish communicating with the human pack, he moved out from the shadows slowly, his form molding with the shadows themselves to create one more suited to his needs: a more lupine form, a mix of wolf fur and black scales.

The werewolf creature's eyes locked onto his own reptilian ones and the creature bared his teeth. The werewolf tried to show that he was alpha, and it did not affect the creature emerging from shadows.

"_You may kill him whenever you wish,"_ spoke the snake speaker.

He moved farther out of the shadows, circling around the werewolf and stopping in front of the snake speaker. From the back of the room, he caught the scent of fear as it rolled off the one human worthy of existence. Vibrant and strong, he drew the emotion into himself, circling the power through him. Yes, the human was worth existence. Even without being _his _yet, the human was helping him.

He began to stalk towards the wolf, his jaws bared in a growl. This pathetic creature controlled the werewolf pack, and this would only weaken them, spread his taint to the others. He would fix that, then he would claim his prize.

The wolf growled at him, angry that he was not standing down from an alpha. In response, he sent out his challenge to the wolf, one that questioned the wolf's right to live, right to lead, and right to take the lives of others when he was unworthy of life himself. The wolf backed up a step, then responded in kind with an answer, lunging at him, jaws reaching for his throat. He let them hit their mark.

Teeth scraped against hard scales, and he pulled his head over that of the werewolf to bite down, the wolf's blood spilling into his mouth as his canines tore at the fur and sinew. The wolf howled in pain as he slowly bit down farther and farther into the wolf's neck, reaching for the one connection that kept the wolf alive.

A loud "crunch" echoed through the room as his teeth severed the creature's bone and nerve. The creature spasmed violently and then lay still. Even in death, the werewolf was pathetic.

He lifted his eyes to see his human's looking at him, silver pools of emotion and vibrancy, locking on his own emerald reptilian ones.

"_I'm surprised that you did not merely kill him with your eyes,_" the snake speaker commented.

He shrugged, his form shaking off that of the wolf, the fur sinking into his pale skin, but the patches of black scales remained. A few humans of the pack shifted uneasily at his change, his form unclothed and vulnerable in their eyes. Pathetic. They shouldn't be allowed to live if they created such conclusions in their own minds from looks alone. If only they could taste his aura, smell his power, they would not find anything similar between his form and their own. But they were only humans, so they could only see the influence of the human Necromancer on his form.

"_Do you care what they know you as?"_ the snake speaker asked, speaking of his human pack.

"_No, they have no worth, and therefore are of no importance,"_ he replied, melting back into the shadows at the snake speaker's side.

"_Then they shall know you as Atropos, the name of one of their Fates, to remind them that you can just as easily cut their life's thread and end their existence."_

It did not matter to him what the human pack called him, so he let the snake speaker decide for him. A name was unimportant anyway. There was no way to give a soul a name, no way to imprint that knowledge upon it. Only emotions, trials, and tragedy could leave imprints upon the soul and make the soul beautiful.

Speaking of beautiful souls, "_When you dismiss the human pack, make the one in the back with the silver eyes stay behind,_" he hissed to the snake speaker during a moment when another member of the human pack was speaking.

If Lord Voldemort thought it a strange request, he did not show it. Calmly he asked, "_Why do you wish this?"_

"_I want him,"_ was the simple reply. "_And he will be mine."_

* * *

When Lord Voldemort requested he stay behind, Draco Malfoy truly believed he was starting to live out the last moments of his life. He had no love for the… thing… that had killed his mother. Any loyalty to Lord Voldemort that Draco might have felt at his initiation was gone, vanished along with the light of the killing curse that the Dark Lord had used to kill his mother.

Draco refused to meet Snape's worried eyes as he passed, refused to look at any of the other Death Eaters as they enviously sneered at him while walking out of the room. What did those fools think anyway? That this was some great gift? Had they so soon forgotten, the shame he had brought upon himself by hesitating when he could have killed Dumbledore? Did they know that he had watched their leader kill his own mother, simply because he had said she "held him back from greatness"? No, they knew none of that. In that one respect, Lord Voldemort had been generous. He had allowed Draco the shame of failure in private. Only Snape had been there to witness his time under the Cruciatus spell and the death of his mother, and so only Snape was worried for the Malfoy heir.

All too soon, Draco was left in the room with the Dark Lord and the corpse of what had been the werewolf leader. He couldn't tell if that _other_ creature was still in the room; that creature had disappeared from sight long ago, melting into the shadows as if walking into water.

Draco respectfully knelt before his master, waiting for the curse that he knew would be coming. But it did not come.

"You are to be congratulated, Draco Malfoy," Voldemort hissed, and Draco almost looked up in surprise.

"For what reason, my Lord?" he asked, his voice wavering.

"Because you, and you alone, have secured my rule of the wizarding world." The shadows moved at Lord Voldemort's side, and Draco swore he saw two eyes watching him, their glow an ethereal green.

"I was not aware that I had done that, my Lord," Draco admitted, his attention now more on the creature emerging slowly from the shadows than on his master.

"Oh, but you have, Draco. For his aid in my cause, Atropos only asked for you in return. Therefore, I have you to thank." Voldemort spoke cruelly, but Draco almost didn't hear him finish his last sentence as both creature and shadow leapt forward. Darkness closed around all his senses, and Draco Malfoy knew no more.

* * *

Draco awoke in a room with no windows, sparsely decorated with furniture of a dark brown wood and what looked like blood red cloth. What little light there was in the room came from one lit candle that stood on an ornate steel stand in the middle of the room.

Slowly, Draco eased himself into a sitting position, realizing absently that his Death Eater mask had been removed, but he was still in his Death Eater robes. A low growl from the corner of the room made him freeze as the shadows seemed to swirl and part to let someone walk through them.

Atropos, that was what Lord Voldemort had called him; named for the Fate that cut the thread of a mortal life. An apt name, for this Atropos was such a monster that Draco could picture him cutting a mortal's life thread with those jaws more easily than he could picture an old hag with scissors doing the same.

Atropos was a Necromancer, or so Lord Voldemort had said. He was also part Basilisk, Dementor, Inferi, and Werewolf. He scared Draco senseless.

The bed, for that was what Draco was lying on, dipped slightly as the creature leapt upon it. Even through his curtain of fear, Draco's mind informed him that Atropos was in his lupine form, a form more apt to use his Werewolf abilities. He would have four other forms, one for each of his… traits, and then one true form. Voldemort had said that his dominant traits were Necromancer and Basilisk, so most likely the melded human and reptilian form, that he had slipped into after the fight with Greyback, was his true form.

The wolf form lengthened and shifted, the fur and scales disappearing into deathly pale skin as he crept closer to Draco's tense form. The youth pressed back against the headboard as the creature reached up towards him. Draco jumped slightly as the hands touched the skin at his neck. They were so cold, almost like frozen flesh. They traveled up his neck to the junction where neck met chin and stayed there as the creature pressed closer to Draco, a strange half-purr, half-moan emerging from his throat.

I meant to let you sleep longer, aetherius iuvencus (lit. "ethereal youth"), but I was just _so_ cold.

Draco panicked when the words sounded in his mind and the creature leaned further into his personal space. Had this been a fellow student at Hogwarts accosting him in that way, Draco would have been shouting "rape", but he doubted it would have the same effect on this creature here that it would have on a student at Hogwarts.

My lupine form only retains so much heat, aetherius (lit. "ethereal (one)"), and I dared not change into my other forms for fear of loosing that, but I was just so cold.

The creature, Atropos, was shorter than he was, Draco noticed, as he stretched out over Draco's body. Draco also realized that he was shivering. The creature really was cold! Freezing, even, if the violent tremors were anything to go by. Yet, Draco thought, this room wasn't very cold, maybe a little warmer than the Slytherin dorms had been down in the dungeon.

Atropos seemed to try and snuggle closer into Draco, sighing slightly as the warmth from his aetherius human radiated through his clothes. But it wasn't enough.

Atropos was many creatures, but only one of them produced warmth. The Necromancer, if Draco remembered his father's stories from when he was younger correctly, negated any temperatures around him, numb to his surroundings. But Atropos couldn't do that, because he wasn't only Necromancer. He would steadily loose his body temperature because his other forms would overpower the Werewolf, the only creature of the four others to produce its own body heat. The Dementor would negate this body heat, because Dementors created an absence of heat in their bodies. Inferi were, in truth, animated corpses, so they wouldn't be able to make their own body heat, or retain it even if they could. They sought heat and the feeling of warmth by devouring the living. And a Basilisk was a cold-blooded creature, so its body would shut down and go into hibernation in colder temperatures.

"What do you want from me?" Draco whispered. Atropos groaned as another tremor racked his body.

Speak with your thoughts and not your words, aetherius. I cannot conceive meaning from the sounds of your voice. The dark creature's mental voice sounded slightly familiar to Draco, he thought absently, but he could not understand where he possibly could have heard it before.

What do you want from me? Draco thought the question toward the creature.

Warmth, Atropos answered instantly. Your spirit, your anima, is fire. Your very emotions are flames. Give me your fire!

Unsure of the reasoning behind his own actions, Draco began to work at the silver clasp of his outer robes. The silk slid off his shoulders easily. He then began to try and undo the buttons on his shirt, but Atropos was lying on his chest, and he couldn't get to them.

Atropos- he began the thought.

The hands that had been on his neck left his skin to reach for the collar of his shirt. With the sound of ripping fabric, Atropos tore through the black shirt and brushed the fallen shreds off Draco's body. The blond pulled the shivering creature onto his lap, holding the cold skin against his own.

Atropos groaned at the warmth spreading through his body like wildfire. Every place where the human's skin met his own burned and tingled as if he was held by flames.

As the Inferi warmed, it began to fall back into a dormant trait, his true form resurfacing. Draco watched the shadows play around the body he held to reveal the same form he'd seen a glimpse of during the meeting. Black scales meshed with skin, like horrid scars that would never heal. Skin, that could have been human, were it not marred by the creatures within.

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	3. Falling to Pieces

_Chapter Three: Falling to Pieces_

Atropos's lip curled slightly at the smell of the fortress. It wafted through the small, barred windows and down to where he crouched, in the shadows of the rocky beach that surrounded the prison of Azkaban. It smelt of decay and death. It smelt of corruption and pain. It smelt of the slow fall of the prisoners' minds into insanity.

And he hated it. He could see the faint aura of the Dementors that had been used to keep the prisoners in line. He could feel the imprint of their anger written into the very stones of the prison; their anger at not being able to feed properly, their slow starvation and desperation. And he could barely contain his own will to destroy the fortress, brick by spell-covered brick.

He held back, though. Just barely. If he destroyed the prison, the prisoners inside would be destroyed as well. First, had to get them out, then he had to pay his respects to the mass graves behind the prison. This took precedence over his loathing.

The air around him grew colder as his form lengthened. The shadows twisted around him and grew solid, blocking his body from view like a ragged robe. His hands, clenching around a single folded parchment, a letter holding three portkeys, darkened in color, becoming almost the same color as the walls of the prison itself. His face was hidden by the shadows, with only his eyes, bright green and shining, visible to the night sky.

He slipped through the night, making no noise, his feet leaving no prints. As a nightmare would surface in a child's dreams, he emerged next to the stone of the fortress. The guarded doors gave him no difficulties, as he merely walked through them, his form solidifying on the other side. He didn't particularly like the feeling of having no solid form, but he did see its purpose as his cousins, the Dementors, often did.

Reverting back to his true form, Atropos stretched and began to make his way down the rows of cells, looking for the ones the snake speaker had requested.

All the cells were in a row, carved into the very stone of the castle, with steel bars that were just wide enough that Atropos could have stuck his hand through, if he wished. To the side of each cell was a notch in the wall where the wand of the inhabitant was kept. _Foolish,_ he thought as he walked past. _Very foolish._

Each cell held one person, as if the - what had the snake speaker called them again? Mikry… Missrey… Ministry! - as if the people in the Ministry were afraid that his pack would escape if given the opportunity to work together. Atropos's eyes looked into the dark cells, adjusting to see in the pitch blackness. The snake speaker had said to look for one of his pack in particular, saying that he would be the one that the others in the pack would follow once they had escaped, one of the rare few with ambition. The snake speaker had said he that would be easy to find, since he looked like the one Atropos had shown interest in.

He was in the last cell of the row, the darkest and gloomiest, as if he had done something particularly horrible. His wand was different than the others, almost… decorated. It looked like a cane, topped with a snake's head… Atropos's fingers easily detached it from its spot on the wall before he looked through the bars at the cell's inhabitant. Atropos stood there for a minute, looking at the human that sat against the wall.

"L-Lucius?" a voice spoke out from the silence. It was the voice of a human, the one in the cell Atropos had just passed.

"What is it, Nott?" the man, Lucius, drawled.

"There... there were _eyes_ watching me - green ones."

"They were watching me, too," another human commented from two cells down, "then they disappeared."

"And they are currently watching me," Lucius interrupted, although Atropos could almost taste a thread of fear in the man.

He hissed into the darkness, telling the human to come to the bars of the cell, even though he knew that the man would not understand him.

"A snake?"

"It's a Basilisk! Our Lord wants to kill us all!"

"Shut up, you fools," Lucius snarled. "You've already looked at the eyes, haven't you? If it was a Basilisk, you would all be dead by now."

Atropos lightly scratched the stone next to the bars of Lucius's cell, placing the note from the Dark Lord that explained his purpose and the human's wand just inside the cell.

Curious, Lucius began to make his way towards the bars of the cage, one hand held outward to feel his way in the dark. When it got close enough, Atropos grabbed it through the bars in one of his claws and guided it down to the parchment and wand.

The man lost no time, pulling out his wand from its sheath and whispering "_Lumos_"(lit. light). The light from the wand illuminated the shadows that had hidden Atropos.

"I didn't think the guards were coming for another hour or so," a man from another cell commented, seeing the light in the hallway. "They must have changed the routine."

"No, you moron, it's Lucius! How did you get a wand?"

Lucius didn't respond for a moment, looking down at the words that the Dark Lord had written for his pack in the cells. "The Dark Lord's newest ally gave it to me."

There were shouts of confusion in the halls, as the others asked Lucius what he was talking about. Atropos ignored them, setting to work on the bars of Lucius's cage. He felt his body draw into itself, his form lengthening and his skin dissolving into scales. His eyes burned with a new power, and he focused their gaze on the steel bars of Lucius's cell. They shattered like glass.

Lucius followed the Basilisk down the hall, as Atropos destroyed the bars on the other cells of the imprisoned pack in the same way. When they had all joined Lucius outside of the cells, Atropos reverted back to his true form, nodding once to Lucius before disappearing into the shadows of the fortress. All except Lucius were to apparate out on their own. Lucius, though, was needed to make sure that the _other_ pack members Atropos was to free made their way back to the snake speaker.

Atropos didn't even wait to hear them leave, as he began the walk outside to the mass grave behind the prison, the soft footsteps of the blond human sounding faintly behind him.

There were three other humans that the snake speaker wanted Atropos to bring back to him. Two of these had died and were entombed in Azkaban because they were part of his pack and their families wanted nothing to do with them(1). One of these had been kept alive and imprisoned away from the snake speaker until a few years ago. He had been kissed by a Dementor and was now kept in one of the lower holding cells of Azkaban(2). Atropos first went to bring the two dead pack members back to life.

* * *

Though a lost art, Necromancy had gained a reputation in the world, among both wizards and muggles. The idea of a man commanding an army of skeletons dressed in ancient armor against an army of living men was a common topic for novels, artwork, and muggle movies. The idea of blood rituals, of sacrificing the young and beautiful to bring people back from the dead was another popular image of the Necromancer. But Necromancy was none of these things, as the young Lord Voldemort had learned from reading the tome of the last Necromancer.

Necromancy was much less flashy than such depictions. Blood, though a nice addition to the ritual, was not necessary. A Necromancer didn't even need a body to bring someone back from the dead, just willpower and magic. During the ritual, the body of the deceased was summoned back into the form it had appeared as when the spirit passed out of the land of the living.

Lord Voldemort knew that the spell he had used to give his soul a body was nothing compared to the powerful magic that Harry - or rather, Atropos - would perform tonight. This was one of the reasons he had ordered Lucius to accompany the Necromancer. One reason was, of course, to hand the portkeys to the newly-revived Death Eaters immediately after their reanimation, which would bring them to him so he could explain the circumstances of their rebirth. The third reason was he knew Lucius, who loved power in any form, would watch the ritual closely. He could then find out the exact details of the ritual, and even see it for himself since Lucius's mind was a rather unguarded one.

* * *

If the human was uncomfortable with Atropos's Necromancer form, he didn't show it, which Atropos only passively noticed. Of course, his Necromancer form was the most human-like. In fact, in body, he was human. What revealed him as a Necromancer were the runes that appeared on his thighs and upper arms. These symbols glowed silver in the dark, a dim pulsating glow, as Atropos surveyed the land, which was loosely covered by dirt. The night air felt cold on his skin, but Atropos pushed such thoughts out of his mind. He was no human, and therefore needed no protection on hisskin, unlike the human who pulled his robes closely around himself to block out the chill of wind and sea.

Lucius watched as the creature prowled the ground, as if looking for something. As Atropos walked, his footprints remained in the dirt, glowing silver in the same way that the strange markings did. Lucius was sure they were runes of some kind, but they were not of a type he knew.

Atropos stopped walking, and Lucius realized that the Necromancer had created a circle of footsteps on the dirt which glowed silver. Atropos stepped outside of the circle and began to speak, his words a long stream of unknown sounds, merely snarls and hisses to Lucius.

The ground shook, and the silver glow intensified, spreading to cover all the ground inside it. The dirt began to bleed out of the silver circle, flowing out and away from the mass of skeletal heads, hands, feet, and other bones it had concealed. The first of these were not, Lucius noted, buried six feet into the ground, but lay just under the surface.

The Malfoy patriarch stepped back involuntarily as the mass of bones began to move, as he heard the shifting of marrow on marrow and small pops as joints that had long remained motionless willed themselves to work again.

Skeletons that were only half or quarter formed began to pull away from the pile that seemed an endless mass of moving bone. Slowly, as the bones pried themselves away from their neighbors, two complete skeletons emerged near the bottom of the mass grave.

They sputtered and writhed, as nerve endings sprouted from bone marrow, first silver in color, then turning flesh-like. From these, veins began to map their way across the skeletal structure. Finally, muscles, sinew, and flesh filled in the small gaps and holes to hold everything together.

The other skeletons, in various forms of completion, pushed the two bodies up to rest at Atropos's feet. The silver glow intensified to a glare, its blinding light fixating on the two corpses. Lucius fought to see through the light, and fought back a grimace as the bodies began to move.

At first, the movements were sharp and jerky, as if they were magnified twitches, but the movements became more fluid as they continued, faster and faster, until the spasms could have been those of a living person.

Then Lucius heard the first scream. It was the scream of a woman as her soul was forced back into a body that it had left, forced back into the world of the living, forced back without a choice of its own, forced back harshly by a Necromancer who cared nothing for the feelings of the dead. Another scream joined hers, male, but just as loud and painful.

Their shrieks continued, louder than any from a person under a Cruciatus curse, and Lucius began to wonder why none of the guards had come to investigate. Then again, nothing in this world could have made Lucius himself come to investigate the source of this scream had he been in their position.

The shrieks stopped just as suddenly as they had started, and the area was forced back into darkness as the glow faded. The silver footsteps disappeared so the only light came from the strange markings on Atropos's skin.

There were sounds of ragged breathing at the creature's feet as Lucius warily approached. Quickly, he knelt and placed the two gold charms in the slightly shaking human hands, stepping back as soon as he could, as if expecting the bodies to suddenly attack him.

Atropos shifted back into his true form as the humans disappeared, as the snake speaker had said they would, before turning and grabbing the human's arm to tell him they were leaving. There was one more place he had to go tonight, and he was only getting colder as time passed.

* * *

Rumors spread quickly through the ranks of the Death Eaters. Many had speculated what the Dark Lord could do with such a creature such as the one that had appeared so broken and bloody in the ballroom-turned-audience-chamber that night.

_They acted like school girls speaking of the latest gossip,_ Snape thought with a grimace. And here he thought he didn't have to deal with that anymore.

But there was one Death Eater that Snape had not heard of since the night before, and it worried him. Though he didn't believe any of the strange rumors about Atropos, the one that said the Dark Lord had given Draco Malfoy to his new pet, the part-Necromancer creature, worried him. Draco had gotten off lightly, too lightly, for failing the Dark Lord. Snape had assumed that it had been because the Dark Lord had just been in a good mood because of Dumbledore's death, no matter who had killed him, and because if Draco was pushed too far away, he would loose the support of the Malfoy family with Lucius in Azkaban. Now, Snape wondered if the Dark Lord had executed Draco's true punishment. He wouldn't put it past Lord Voldemort to have planned such a thing, and yet he could also see Lord Voldemort not caring who the creature, Atropos, devoured, as long as he was willing to work for his cause.

Finding out where Atropos was staying was an easy task. He was again reminded of Hogwarts. _It's a secret, so of course everybody knows_. But he pushed those thoughts out of his head as he walked through the dark corridors of Riddle Manor.

Death Eaters were everywhere, speaking in low voices and waiting for the real meeting to start. Lord Voldemort had sent Atropos on what everyone considered an impossible mission: retrieve all the captured Death Eaters from Azkaban, bring back to life two who had died in Azkaban after the first war, and give Barty Crouch Jr. back his soul.

Everyone had thought it impossible… at least until the first of the Death Eaters had apparated into Riddle Manor. _As if anyone could miss Bellatrix's screams when her husband apparated into the entrance hall,_ Snape thought snidely as he walked quickly through the dark hallways. With everyone spread throughout the manor, waiting for the others from Azkaban to return, and with Atropos himself still away, this might be the only opportunity he got to make sure Draco was still living.

For the umpteenth time, Snape cursed the stupid Unbreakable Vow, most of which he had already completed by finishing the mission to kill Dumbledore. _Damn that Malfoy woman,_ he cursed as he remembered the little smile that she had directed in his direction when he agreed to the vow. Keep Draco safe. Bloody hell, he should have just told her to get out of his house and leave him alone.

He reached the door that supposedly opened to Atropos's room, and pushed it open, surprised when he realized that it wasn't even locked. Then again, he was thinking like a wizard, and Atropos wasn't a wizard. Despite all that Voldemort had said about Atropos being a Necromancer, he was still a dark creature.

The room was lit by only one candle, leaving it darker than the hallway outside. But, in the light of that one, solitary flame, Snape could see the boy lying on the bed, sleeping. He crossed the room to the four-poster bed, letting the door swing shut behind him, and gently roused Draco from sleep.

"Professor?" The boy blinked, "What's going on?"

"I'm continuing to follow that Unbreakable Vow your mother guilted me into," Snape replied in a monotone.

In spite of the situation, Draco smirked. "You must really hate that by now."

"Indeed. I will apparate us out of here, and then return. I don't know where they've stored your wand."

"Oh, it's right here," Draco replied, pulling it out of his robes. "No one took it off me."

"Then I would also assume you can still use it?"

"Yeah." Draco's lip curled slightly as he pictured where he was going to go, "You really need to clean that place, you know."

"If you wish it cleaner, Mr. Malfoy, you may clean it yourself," Snape replied, "Just get out of here before Atropos gets back."

Draco nodded, disappearing with a pop.

* * *

When a Dementor Kisses a human, or any other creature possessing a soul, they consume it. Yet, Dementors themselves have no stomach to speak of, only a broken soul and solid shadows to complete their form. So, the soul's energy is transferred to the Dementor's soul, and then is free to go wherever it pleases. Normally, it stays right by its former body, and does not cross over from the living world, because its body is not dead. Only if the body dies, naturally or unnaturally as the case may be, does the soul cross over like other souls.

Giving back a soul works much in the same way as taking one, but no Dementor has ever cared to return a soul once he drains it. It wastes too much energy, more than is gained by consuming it in the first place.

Atropos did not bother to hide his disgust as the stench of the lower cells assaulted his senses. Next to him, Lucius was a silent follower as he lead the human deeper into the cells.

There were strange moans from these cells, while the rest of Azkaban had been silent. This was because these pathetic creatures had no control over themselves; they just existed. They were despicable._ They should have been killed long ago for just taking up space,_ Atropos thought.

He found the cell of Barty Crouch Jr. rather quickly. It was near the door to the stairwell, as he had been the most recent person to be Kissed. After breaking the bars on the cell, Atropos let his form shift into that of a Dementor, looking for the soul that would be his.

It was there, hovering worriedly about its former body. With a deft motion, Atropos grabbed it out of the air, and stuffed it back into the human's open and drooling mouth, summoning enough energy to rebind the soul to its human body.

The man coughed and sputtered, falling from where he'd been sitting, and hitting the cold floor. Lucius was next to him in an instant, and dropped the charm into his hand as if he would rather not be nearer than a meter's length from the man. Silently, Atropos agreed. He would not have wanted to touch the man either, but he had to. Even as a human, he should have expected such taste from the man who had sired his aetherius. Yes, he had realized why this man and his aetherius were so similar. It would be something to tell his aetherius when he returned, Atropos guessed, considering that most humans worried about their parents. It was a stupid custom, and one he would have to break his aetherius of sooner or later.

As he melted back into the shadows, the human apparated away, leaving just the creature for the long trip back.

* * *

It was almost dawn when Atropos arrived at the building which the snake speaker called Riddle Manor. Atropos deftly avoided both the snake speaker and his pack, who were all milling about talking about something unimportant, and headed for his own room, intent on getting warm again.

But when he opened the door, there was no one in the room. The one candle had been blown out, but Atropos did not have to search the room to know that his aetherius was not there.

* * *

The cry that assaulted the ears of the assembled Death Eaters was something between a shriek and a roar. All conversation stopped as many of the Death Eaters turned to look at their Lord, who looked nonchalant about the situation. Outwardly calm, Snape winced at the sound, the only one in the room to understand exactly who was making that sound and the reason for it.

**Footnotes:  
****(1)**_Death Eaters in Azkaban - _If you remember back to the Fourth book Voldemort says that there are 3 Death Eaters "killed in his service". One of these, we learn in the Fifth book, is Regulus Black whom Voldemort killed himself. The other two are not mentioned, so I chose this death for them.  
**(2)**_Barty Crouch's sentence - _With both his mother and father dead, I decided the Ministry would have the vegetable Barty Crouch put into a cell in Azkaban. He was, after all, a confirmed Death Eater and murderer.

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	4. Nefarious Threads

_Chapter Four: Nefarious Threads_

As the first light of dawn edged toward the horizon, a dark shadow burst through the doors of Riddle Manor and raced down the path towards the gates. Atropos's werewolf form lurched in an even rhythm as he cantered down the empty streets of the town, following a scent in a way no other creature besides himself was able to do. His aetherius's aura was faint and weak, too muted by distance for him to taste it clearly. But he could still feel it echoing through his mind. And he would follow it until it strengthened and he could again taste aetherius in the very air itself. Once he could do that, he could find aetherius no matter how well he was hidden. His lupine form never tired, never wavered, as his other forms gave it the extra strength it needed to continue. The werewolf was dominant now, raging in fury at what had happened.

Someone had taken aetherius from him. And worse, hidden aetherius somewhere where Atropos was obviously not supposed to find him. Somewhere that someone had deemed far enough away from the snake speaker that Atropos would not be able to feel aetherius and follow aetherius's aura to him. And Atropos wanted to know who. Which creature dared to do such a thing?

Aetherius would tell him once he found him. He knew that. But he feared that aetherius would somehow wish to protect that creature. Humans had strange emotions. They felt indebted to others too easily. And from the scents in his room, aetherius had not been afraid when the other creature had come to take him away. It was someone aetherius had trusted.

Atropos would make sure that creature never came near his aetherius again!

* * *

Snape idly watched his best friend out of the corner of his eye as they stood back behind the gathering of Death Eaters. It was only a matter of time before Lucius realized he wasn't going to find who he was looking far among those assembled before Lord Voldemort. He didn't know how his Lord planned on hiding what had happened to Draco from the boy's father… but then again, perhaps he did not plan to hide it at all. From what he'd heard, Atropos was their Lord's greatest "triumph".

Yet so much had happened after Lucius was sent to Azkaban, and most of it concerned Draco in one manner or another. Snape wondered how Lucius would react. Would he even care?

At one time, Snape would have said so. But Lucius was now not the man he had been. He also hadn't yet seen how Azkaban had changed Lucius – and he knew there _would_ be change; no one left Azkaban untarnished.

"Severus, do you see my son anywhere?"

Snape paused as he felt the weight of steel eyes watching him as he had been watching their owner just before.

"He won't be here, Lucius."

"And why would that be?" Lucius's grip twisted upon the snake head of his cane and Snape could only begin to guess what was going through the Malfoy patriarch's mind. Perhaps thoughts of Draco betraying their Lord, and of what would befall him when Lucius found him.

"Atropos requested him and the Dark Lord gave him away."

Lucius's head turned to look at him, the grotesque mask hiding what Snape was sure was an emotionless expression before he turned and again cast his eyes over the gathering.

"Good." Snape could almost hear the smile in the word – the same smile that meant things were going completely as Lucius wished they were. The same smile that – at least in Snape's opinion – always followed certain disaster. "There is nothing safer for him right now than if that creature is guarding him."

"You must know something I do not know then." Snape kept his tone neutral, though he wanted to shriek how he'd watched that creature tear a werewolf to shreds.

"And you must as well, to be giving me such a look. What say you we trade stories later?"

"Azkaban did change you," Snape murmured, but this time he did not look away from Lucius's gaze.

"As it changes us all."

Snape hardly held in the shudder at those cold, emotionless, weighted words.

* * *

Draco stretched as he shook off the remainder of sleep from the night before, and looked around the room in thinly veiled disgust. Spinner's End was not Malfoy Manor - nor was it even close. Snape's sarcastic comment about Draco cleaning the place if he wanted it cleaner rang in his head for a moment before he pushed it aside. A Malfoy did _not _clean house. That was a job for a House Elf, not a pureblood wizard.

But… there really wasn't anything else to do in this place. Draco shrugged and began shooting cleaning spells at different places in whatever room it was that he had fallen asleep in.

Just as Draco was beginning to think the room might be presentable for a family like… say, the Weasleys, a strange nagging sensation began to pull at his mind, causing him to pause. As he wondered what it was, and prodded at it in his mind, an angry voice exploded into his conscious.

_Where are you?!_

Draco nearly fell off the bed in shock. The anger from the words pulsed harshly through his mind, causing him to cry out in pain. Immediately, as if sensing the cause for his distress, the anger receded, pushed back by a thread of worry. Again the voice repeated his question, in a much softer tone, almost expectant of an answer… as if he was in the same room as Draco and was talking to him.

Draco wondered whether or not to answer Atropos, wondered if he could push the creature out of his mind. He could almost feel Atropos trying to find him, and coming closer as the seconds ticked by.

I don't know, he finally thought back at the creature, trying to pull away from whatever it was that gripped his mind.

Are you hurt? The question came quickly, as if it would have some connection with Draco "not knowing" where he was.

No.

There was a small thread of satisfaction that wound its way into the mix of emotions that were being broadcasted to Draco's mind from Atropos'. Good. If you were harmed in any way I would have utterly destroyed whoever it was that took you from me.

Atropos thought that Draco hadn't left voluntarily. Draco frowned slightly. The creature couldn't comprehend it apparently. Good, then that would buy him the time he needed to allude the creature until Snape figured out a more suitable method of disposing of the problem. And he would have to, Draco smiled grimly, his mother had seen to that.

But Atropos was getting closer, _that_ Draco could feel in his very core. Every instinct he'd ever possessed screamed at him to run and run now. But where to go? Draco began to pace, edging closer to the doorway of the house subconsciously as he did so. His first reaction would be to go home, to Malfoy Manor. But that was out of the question. Malfoy Manor was under his father's direct control now that his mother was dead, and with his father in Azkaban, the Manor had been locked up until his "return".

Draco sneered at a broken light fixture as he passed it for the third time. The Ministry couldn't legally confiscate the lands, but they seemed to have gone to great lengths to make it as inaccessible as possible. Draco would only have access to it when his father died, and his father was safely in Azkaban. He wouldn't be dying for a long time. Draco sighed and leaned against the wall. Not that he wanted his father to die, but he had nowhere to go that he could count on to be safe. Draco toyed with the idea of apparating to some far off island in the middle of the ocean. The creature didn't have any aquatic forms, so theoretically he'd be safe there…

But Dementors could fly, or levitate… or whatever they did to move around long distances, because they certainly got around easily enough.

This was wasting time, and Draco could almost hear the creature's hurried footsteps in his mind as Atropos neared.

Draco resumed pacing and thinking, his footsteps bringing him to the door of Spinner's End. He would have to get out of the area surrounding Spinner's End to be completely free of Snape's protective wards. He remembered his mother telling him about how they messed with apparation, how she had to apparate nearby to Spinner's End and walk the rest of the way in order to insure she didn't splinch herself, even being as trained in witchcraft as she was. Snape's wards messed with the concentration needed to apparate without splinching yourself in the process… and with the way Draco's nerves were right now he didn't need any added distractions.

Hushed voices made him pause, even in his panic, one hand on the door knob. One, he recognized as Snape's voice – harsh and low, yet urgent. Very urgent. Draco hadn't heard Snape speak like that since the night he'd killed Dumbledore.

"-watched him rip Greyback apart! You did not see that, Lucius, you cannot know-"

Draco's heart leapt to his mouth at the rejoining hiss.

"I watched him make iron brittle and shatter with one look, I watched him return a soul to a body, I watched him raise the dead, Severus! Forgive me if I assume I know a bit more about this situation than you do. You should not have taken Draco from there."

Draco headed for Snape's library, towards where his father's voice had come from.

"I had no choice, Lucius! The damn Unbreakable Vow gave me no choice!"

"Then you had better reconcile with that Vow immediately, Severus, because either it will kill you or Atropos will once he gets here!"

"He has no idea where-"

"You think that will stop him? He's more than just a killer, Severus. Much more. He certainly won't need directions to find-"

Lucius cut himself off when Draco opened the door with a cry. "Father!"

For a moment, Snape thought Draco would run to Lucius and hug him, as any child would – he surmised – if his father had returned from Azkaban. For a moment, Snape thought Lucius would actually let him. But then that moment passed. Draco stood straight at the door and walked calmly into the room, Lucius nodded regally to his son without a hint of a smile on his face, and – not for the first time – Snape wanted to scream at the both of them.

"We were just discussing your situation, Draco," Lucius said, turning back to Snape.

"He's coming." Draco's words were soft, and captured the attention of both men. "He's already close."

The look Lucius sent Severus' way was mocking and Snape glared in return. "Then I suggest you go out to meet him when he comes," Lucius spoke to Draco while staring Snape down, as if daring the man to object.

Snape didn't need to, Draco did that for him.

"What?"

"You heard me, Draco. Go outside and wait for him."

"But-"

The look Lucius sent Draco's way commanded absolute obedience. With that one look, Draco felt as if he was a child again, half-afraid and half-awed of the being that was his father.

Snape's voice followed Draco into the entrance hall. "This is folly, Lucius."

"Snape, do you really think the Dark Lord has control of his weapon?"

Draco didn't hear Snape's answer as he closed the door behind him and sat down on the steps to wait.

His father must know something, he told himself as Atropos' presence grew closer in his mind. He must have figured out something that even Snape did not see.

Draco mocked his own fear. Of course his father knew things Snape did not. His father _always_ knew things that Snape did not. And his father would tell him when he was ready to know.

A dark form lumbered out of the shadows, trembling as it walked. Draco squinted in the darkness, watching the creature come nearer.

It looked like a great, shaggy, wolf but it sniffed the air like a snake would, with its tongue. Draco watched it do so twice before it perked up, a shiver working its way down its entire body, and it set off at a trot towards Draco's waiting place. As it neared, Draco recognized the wolf. Atropos' lupine form.

Father had said to go meet him. For not the first time, Draco wished that his father would have seen fit to tell him what was going on – even if he wasn't ready for it.

Atropos.

The creature started at the thought Draco sent his way, before Draco's mind was enveloped in warmth – like a mental hug.

Aetherius! The creature bounded towards Draco shifting to his true form as he did so. His steps were strange, Draco thought, like the hurried steps of one walking outside in the winter without a warming charm. Draco stood as the creature neared, his steps slowing as if Atropos didn't want them to slow, as if he was fighting for control of his own body.

When he was only steps away from Draco, he began to shiver, but strangely – as if he was trying to hide the tremors inside his body. With each step, he trembled more, his eyes never leaving Draco's own. He never spoke, but those eyes wondered why Draco was just standing there, as if he expected Draco to help him.

He was only an arm's width away when he collapsed on the ground. Draco looked warily at the creature in front of him. Atropos' body was convulsing as if he was in pain, yet his teeth clattered as if he was freezing cold. His lips were starting to turn blue, as he cuddled his naked limbs closer to himself as he shivered.

"You'd better help him," his father's voice rang out like steel – unyielding – behind him.

"But father-"

"You will bring him inside and you will get him warm. Understood?"

Again, the tone allowed no questioning. "Yes, father."

His father left the door open behind him and Draco glared down at the creature collapsed before him. As he pondered how he could move Atropos inside, his eyes roaming over the trembling body, a strange emotion made itself known. Pity.

For though he was a monster, Atropos, uncared for by anyone, could almost have been human if not for the mix of dark creatures marring his very soul. Draco groaned to himself as he closed the distance between them and lifted the figure into his arms. Of all the time to feel pity, he had to begin feeling it now.

Atropos was very light in his arms. Too light, if he judged by human standards. Draco idly wondered if maybe this was Atropos' ideal weight, or if the creature truly was malnourished; he had no difficulty in carrying the creature to the small bathroom in Spinner's End. Draco placed Atropos on the floor and tried to ignore the creature curling around his legs, as he flicked his wand at the bathtub and started to fill it with hot water.

* * *

Atropos clung to his aetherius as he fiddled with the strange brass objects next to the white basin. He wished his aetherius would pick him up again; that had been very nice and warm. The strange, watery, swishing sounds stopped and he sighed happily as his aetherius did pick him up again only to yelp unhappily when his aetherius dropped him in the strange basin. It was filled with water.

Atropos looked confusedly at his aetherius, and tugged at the dark cloth his aetherius wore.

Oh no, I'm not getting in there with you, his aetherius spoke with the strange sounds and in his mind.

Atropos keened softly and pulled, sending Draco floundering on top of him in the water.

A guttural purr rose from the back of his throat as he curled up under his aetherius. It was warm, but not warm enough. He was still shivering, and tendrils of cold still played about his body. He would have to go about this a different way. As his aetherius shifted in the water, trying to right himself, Atropos crawled out from underneath him, his form shrinking and lengthening.

* * *

Draco sputtered as Atropos' basilisk form appeared, entwining around him. He was in a bathtub with a _basilisk_. Good Merlin! He couldn't help the slight tendril of fear that permeated his mind. Did Atropos know what he could do if he looked at Draco? Draco squeezed his eyes shut.

My eyes are closed, aetherius. Do not fear. The voice sounded less human and more like the hiss of a snake in his mind.

Draco squawked as he felt the snake's head slither up over his shoulder and down into his shirt, cool scales curling up next to his skin as the rest of the body followed.

This is very nice, Atropos commented, almost lazily, once he'd coiled himself up in a circle on Draco's chest.

Draco sighed, leaning back against the edge of the tub and staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the cold scales to warm. The ceiling was cracked, he noted idly. Snape would have to fix that.

In a few minutes there was movement and the snake's head poked itself out of the collar of Draco's shirt. Just as Atropos had said, a thin film layer covered his eyes and Atropos made no move to look around the room. He did taste the air several times, tongue flicking in and out of his mouth.

Do you know where we are, aetherius? he asked.

Spinner's End. Draco figured he'd better answer the question truthfully this time.

He felt Atropos' confusion. Where?

The home of one of my father's associates, Draco explained.

Is it safe?

Very.

The one who took you away is not here?

Draco pondered how to answer that. He and my father are both here, he finally told Atropos.

Atropos seemed satisfied by that for some reason, the head ducking back down underneath Draco's shirt. I'm tired, aetherius. I will sleep now.

Not right here, you're not! Draco snapped.

I like it right here, Atropos protested as Draco hauled both of them out of the bathtub. Draco's shoes squished horribly as he put weight on them. Disgusting. They were probably ruined.

Where can we sleep? Atropos' tone was insistent and Draco sighed again.

I'll take us there. Even in his thoughts, Draco found he could do a very close impersonation of muttering.

* * *

He passed Snape in the hall, who looked as if he was trying not to laugh at Draco's expense. He glared at Snape as he passed and walked back into the room he'd woken up in a few hours prior.

Atropos squawked indignantly as Draco fished him out of his shirt and dropped him unceremoniously on the bed. The form twisted and grew, taking on Atropos' necromancer form.

Ah, a bed. That works as well. Atropos crawled under the covers, looking back at Draco in muted confusion when Draco just stood there. Come sleep.

Draco was about to tell Atropos no when a small shiver racked Atropos' body. Instead, he began working off his shoes – yes, they were ruined – socks and outer robes, before crawling in next to Atropos.

Draco allowed the necromancer to curl up around him with very strained patience. Atropos was moving lethargically, and was already half asleep.

* * *

Atropos wound his limbs around his aetherius' body, sighing in satisfaction. His aetherius had been hidden farther away than he had expected; it had taken nearly all his energy to get to him, tired as he had been already from the trip to that prison. He should have told his aetherius to stay put and hunted down the one who had taken his aetherius from him, but he was just too worn out. And besides, his aetherius' sire was here – he would make sure that nothing took his son away until Atropos was rested. Then Atropos would go find the one who had dared try to take his aetherius away.

* * *

As Draco leaned back into the pillows, Atropos' head settled on his chest and a small whisper escaped his lips.

Draco started at the collection of vocal sounds that could only have been his name. He thought Atropos couldn't speak. He looked down at the necromancer's almost sleeping form but Atropos whispered no more.

Silver eyes widened as he saw a small design under the dark brown hair that fell across the necromancer's forehead. Gently, he pushed away the thick fringe and his breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was looking at.

A lightning bolt scar on Atropos' brow.

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	5. Wounds

_Chapter Five: Wounds_

Draco stared at the discolored skin as a scream bubbled at the back of his throat. His jaw clenched to keep it in, until his teeth hurt from it. He could not scream, because that would wake Atropos. He could not scream because that would bring his father and Snape.

And they would _see._ See what Draco could not tear his eyes away from, the picture-perfect, unquestionable fact.

Harry Potter was Atropos.

_Harry Potter!_

This was _the_ explanation, _the_ answer to the questions that every Death Eater had been asking themselves for two weeks. This was why the Dark Lord had been acting the way he had since the discovery of the broken body in their meeting hall, which had looked more a corpse than a living being and no one had gotten a very good look at before the Dark Lord had the thing thrown into the wine cellar. Thiswas why he had been so confident, so triumphant… so very much more than he'd ever been.

And the only one besides the Dark Lord himself who _knew_ was Draco. It _should_ have been exhilarating.

It was terrifying.

What if the Dark Lord realized that Draco knew? What price _wouldn't _he pay to ensure the secret remained only with the Dark Lord himself? The least gruesome scenario of what the Dark Lord would do to Draco, whom he'd already thrown away without the slightest thought, was enough to chill Draco down to his bones. This was a terrible, horrible secret, and he had to keep it. He could tell no one, not Snape, not his father. The only way to ensure that the Dark Lord never realized that Draco knew Atropos' real identity was to make sure that the terrible, horrible secret _stayed_ with him.

And since Atropos was Harry Potter, the Dark Lord had acted with good reason. The Dark Lord had won.

This, Draco thought, should have invoked _some_ reaction within him. Without Harry Potter, it was only a matter of time before the wizarding world belonged to the Dark Lord. His Lord. His father's Lord. Everything they had worked and strived for would come about. It was all over; they had won.

Yet, with the very victory of the Dark Lord wrapped around him in a tangle of limbs, Draco only felt numb.

* * *

Sleep did not overcome Draco until after the stars had begun to fade into early morning, and thus he was not surprised when he awoke to mid-day sunlight streaming in the window and Atropos curled up on his stomach as a snake, basking.

At Draco's movement, the snake shifted, rolling into his true form, the odd blend of all his creatures.

|You did not sleep well,| he observed, blinking huge, luminous, green, reptilian eyes.

|Not really.|

|You were thinking quite loudly, though I was too asleep to hear most of it.| Atropos sounded disappointed by that, but Draco personally felt it was probably a very good thing that he hadn't heard what Draco had been thinking.

|I did hear one thing though, and you thought it quite often, but I am confused as to why. What does "Potter" mean?|

|Nothing,| Draco replied, perhaps a bit to quickly. |There is no real meaning to that word.|

Atropos' tongue flicked out of his mouth, lengthening and changing in the air, it's forked tip nearly touching Draco's nose, before it was pulled back, settling back into a more human tongue within the cavity of Atropos' mouth. His teeth clicked shut in a very lupine smile. |You lie.|

* * *

Breakfast around the Weasley table had long ceased to be a warm, carefree meal since two weeks before, when Ron and Hermione had stumbled into the house in the early hours before dawn, weighed down by defeat like a physical sickness.

And now a new pestilence permeated the sullen meal; the bold black letters of the Daily Prophet proclaimed that Azkaban was no longer safe. They didn't need to read the article, for they'd been there when Kingsley had arrived to report to the Order what had happened, but they read it anyway.

The Daily Prophet had no need to stretch the truth for this article; the real event was sensational enough.

Azkaban prison had been breached, and all of the Death Eaters imprisoned there were missing. Missing, because it seemed as if they had vanished. There had been no conflict, no real break out. It wasn't even known when exactly Azkaban had been breached. They had just disappeared.

But the article didn't mention the _other_ Death Eaters that walked free of Azkaban the night before... those that had no right to. Those who had been dead. _That_ story was reported in other articles, the facts distorted but—for once—the main story true.

There had been whispers growing about a Necromancer. But they had been ridiculous and fantastic, and not even Dark Lord's supporters had truly believed them. The Order had ignored them as wild rumors, meant to strike fear into those who would oppose the Dark Lord.

The Order had been more worried about the news Remus had brought; that Greybeck had been killed. Werewolf activity had increased dramatically, the pack scattered and without leadership until the next full moon. None but Greybeck himself, it seemed, had seen their new alpha, but those who had found Greybeck's corpse, thrown out to rot near the Dark Lord's meeting place, had feared the scent left upon it. The corpse had reeked of death and dark magic. Whatever had killed Greybeck had been a monster which even the werewolf leader had feared in the last moments of his life.

Similar rumors were now beginning to circulate, and all of them centered around this Necromancer, who might not be a Necromancer at all, but some monster forged by the darkest of dark arts. Some called him a werewolf; some a son of Medusa—a Gorgon; some hailed him as one of the dead who could control his own kind.

But all called him a nightmare. And with so little truth to go on, the Order was scrambling to discover just what—or who—this new ally of the Dark Lord's was, before his dark master gave him new orders.

* * *

|I apologize. Most humans lie about things they wish to avoid.|

Atropos' head cocked to one side. |Humans are strange. Can they not tell when another is lying?|

|Some can, some can't.| Draco allowed himself a smirk. |But none the way you do.|

|I do not think that this word is a nice one,| Atropos declared, apparently refusing to be sidetracked. |You did not like to think of it.|

|I have a lot of memories associated with it,| Draco agreed slowly. |Only very few of them are good ones.|

|And these bad memories cause you pain?|

Atropos pondered his own words, Draco wondered if he was thinking of a way to fight bad memories. For a moment, Draco imagined that Atropos might be able to physically attack them, the way he had other dark creatures.

|Memories fade in time; you need not worry.|

* * *

Cleaning spells only went so far, and Draco longed for a new set of robes to wear. Atropos watched his aetherius mutter to himself about it with amusement, the thoughts to accompany the vocal sounds loud and easy to understand. He lay, curled in his werewolf form, in a nest of blankets centered around the warm spot that his aetherius had left on the bed until his aetherius finally deemed himself _presentable_. His aetherius paused when he shifted into his true form, staring intently at the top of his head for a moment before leaving the room.

Draco wandered through Spinner's End with Atropos shadowing his steps. The creature had returned to his composite form, the odd bi-pedal mixture of all the creatures that were a part of him. Harry Potter's scar was absent from the creature's forehead, probably because Atropos' forehead was more scale than skin.

He found his father and Snape again in Snape's library with what looked like lunch. He had no idea where they'd gotten it, as he couldn't really picture either wizard cooking, but he wasn't going to complain as just the presence of food made his stomach growl, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the day before.

Yet as he stepped into the room, a different growl seeped into the room, low and menacing. Like a nightmare so strong it could still exist in the day time, Atropos surged past Draco, low to the floor, part canine and part something else that was always shifting. In an instant, he was upon his prey, one huge clawed hand like a human's with jagged, black nails, too long and too hard to truly be fingernails, swiped at Snape the way Draco had once seen a playful puppy bat a ball.

But the dark gashes, the tearing of cloth, skin, and muscle, made this merely the opening move to a fight and hardly playful at all.

"Atropos!" Draco hardly recognized his own voice, caught between horror and command.

Atropos paused, wary of the wounded wizard in front of him, but still half-turning to give Draco his attention. Lucius watched as something passed between the gazes of the creature and his son, two wills clashing, like a debate without words.

The creature turned back to Snape and undulated forward, his jaws closing shut with an audible click only a hair's breadth away from Snape's nose. He then pulled back slowly, the Inferi body parts melding fully into lupine as the wolf trotted back to where Draco stood in the doorway and sat down on its haunches, tail wagging gleefully.

Only when Atropos was all the way across the room, did Snape rise to his feet.

"You had better get that looked at," Lucius remarked from where he remained next to the fireplace. He gestured to the growing stain of blood which could now be seen, even against the black of Snape's robes.

Snape shook his head, and headed feebly for the room's other door. Only when it closed behind him and his muffled steps could be heard on the stairwell, did Lucius turn to his son.

"It is high time we talked, Draco."

"Yes, Father. But…" Draco trailed off, looking meaningfully at the werewolf circling around his feet like an over-enthusiastic retriever looking for his master to throw the stick.

"I believe he does not understand human speech," his father replied, his tone querying why Draco was concerned.

"He doesn't, but he can comprehend projected thought," Draco admitted. "At least, mine."

His father gave him a long, level look, the kind where Draco could almost _see_ the scheming taking place behind his father's eyes.

"Then you will have to refrain from thinking loudly."

* * *

Atropos did not understand the preoccupation that humans seemed to have with speaking, as he lazily watched his aetherius speak with the one who'd sired him from where he was basking in a patch of sunlight. His aetherius seemed quite comfortable doing so, or at least whatever they were discussing was not causing him any anxiety. But what could possibly be so complicated that it would require so many words?

If he was still curious after his nap, perhaps he would ask his aetherius later. Atropos certainly wasn't going to waste a perfectly good patch of sun on _words_.

* * *

When the knock came on Snape's bedroom door, he knew it was Lucius. Even the man's _knock_ was arrogant and insufferable. Getting up to open the door wasn't a possibility, though it didn't matter, as the elder Malfoy didn't wait for acknowledgement before entering the room.

"I do not think that was to be his killing strike," Lucius commented, drawing one of the chairs in the room to the bed with a flick of his wand.

Snape shook his head. He had spelled the four gashes himself but, even with the wounds cleaned and scarred over, they looked ghastly. "That much was obvious. Yet they still could have been." Close up, the scars looked even worse, deep, horrid gashes that crossed from Snape's shoulder to just below his heart. "He does not know the frailties of humans yet," Snape continued. "He was fighting as if I were another animal which would claw and snap back."

"Was that not his prerogative?" Lucius asked. "He was no Necromancer at the time."

"But it is the Necromancer that his whole being is keyed upon. Without that pillar of support, those other animals would run amok in his mind. It is all that keeps him from becoming rabid. Are you sure you want to entrust Draco to that thing?"

"The only other option is to kill it. How can you kill something that wields death like a sword and shield?"

Snape had no answer for that, just as he had no answer for many of the questions surrounding Atropos. The strength of the Dark Lord's newest minion was in the uncertainty and fear surrounding him. Snape could not help wondering what horrible weaknesses of Atropos the answers to those questions held.

He had seen Atropos when he was still more boy than monster, covered in his own juices, looking like an animal to which the kindest action would be to kill it, in order to end its suffering. He could not shake that image. Underneath the nightmarish thing that he had become, Atropos still was just a boy. What damage would the dark creatures, warring for control, wreck on that mind, a mind that could not even attempt to defend itself, clouded by the Necromancer.

* * *

The summer day was warm and inviting, with that slight hint of fall on the breeze. It was the kind of day Draco had always liked best as a child, when the House Elves could barely keep him inside the house long enough for meals and he would spend the day flying or playing in the gardens, sneaking out to catch fireflies and fairies at dusk. Such memories seemed so carefree and childlike, and it was odd to think that only a year's time separated the then and the now.

Some things didn't change. He was still hard pressed to remain inside on such a day. But a year before he certainly wouldn't have thought to spend a day like this sitting on the front step and just thinking, and yet that was what he did. Leaning against the lintel, sprawled out on the cracked front step.

As always, his talk with his father left him feeling like he'd missed something—something obvious that he should have seen. His father always said much, much less out loud than he actually wanted Draco to learn from their conversations, and most of the time this was not enough for Draco to really learn anything. But his father had talked at great length about Necromancers and about Atropos.

Atropos, who'd quickly bored of the strange sounds that he could not understand, and slithered over to curl up in a patch of sunlight. His father had watched the progress of the snake with no particular expression, and Draco wondered what his father had really thought of the king of all snakes, Atropos' basilisk form, as the sunlight had made the black coils shine like forged gold.

Atropos, who was quite content as well to lounge around, like an overly friendly dog, in his werewolf form. He slept most of the day, and Draco wondered if Atropos really was exhausted, or if the constant ability to nap was born of the fact that half of the creatures that composed him were nocturnal.

He supposed he could ask Atropos himself, but he wondered if even Atropos would know the answer. Atropos was oddly ignorant in things regarding to himself. Atropos merely _was_ and, unlike those around him, he did not question why or how. Atropos himself probably couldn't draw the line between where one dark creature ended and another began in his behavior. It was like a constantly shifting play where the main character was different in every scene.

Draco knew enough, he supposed, about each individual dark creature to guess at what actions were influenced by what, but when they were combined like spokes on a wheel with the Necromancer as the axel, he was lost. Perhaps that was what his father wanted of him, to offer so much information about Necromancers. Perhaps he wanted Draco to figure out how Atropos worked, how to tell which dark creature was at the fore and which were vying for that position.

But to what end, he couldn't even begin to guess.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky—past the brilliance of the sun-set, but not truly dusk—when Draco lightly poked Atropos. The wolf started and blinked.

|Get up.| Draco answered the silent question. |I'm hungry.|

Draco could feel Atropos' confusion as he followed Draco back into the house, again in his true, composite form. When Draco stopped at the sparse kitchen of Spinner's End, he voiced his confusion.

|There is food here?|

|There should be,| Draco replied, though he wouldn't truly be surprised if there wasn't, considering the state of the rest of the house.

Atropos curiously followed Draco around the kitchen as he systematically went through all the cupboards. |There's no meat.| Atropos pointed out, when the search provided half a loaf of what looked like freshly baked bread, vegetables, and even some cheese and milk in the cold cupboard.

|There's enough for… something.| Draco wasn't at all confident in his nearly non-existent cooking skills, but he'd come up with _something_, he was sure.

|But there's no meat.|

Draco looked over at Atropos as he reached for a glass. |It figures you'd only eat meat,| he observed.

Atropos replied something, which he missed completely, hissing in pain, the glass slipping from his fingers and shattering on the floor as he bent over his forearm. The Dark Mark flared upon the skin like a burn, and Atropos was at his side in an instant, prying his fingers off the black skull and serpent.

There was, of course, nothing the creature could do, even as the intensity of the call dwindled until all that was left was the tingling reminder in his nerves.

|I do not understand. What is this? And why does it cause you such pain?|

Draco was still beyond responding, taking big gulps of air and trying to steady himself. |It is a mark which binds all of the Dark Lord's followers to him. When he wishes to summon us, it does… _that_… and we go to him.|

|But why did he… mark-| Atropos stumbled over the word, |-his pack like this?|

Draco wasn't sure anymore whether he was leaning more on the counter or on the dark creature holding him upright, though he was also beyond caring. |Because we asked it of him.| Even in his mind the words seemed sour with dark humor. |As part of our initiation, we request to be branded with the Dark Mark.|

|Did you wish for this mark?|

Draco did laugh at that, in dark, twisted humor. |I did, even as I was terrified of it. It hurt more going on than it does when he summons us.|

|Do you wish to go to him now, then, aetherius?|

The question was innocent enough, but sounded odd in Draco's mind. But he did not know just how, and was in no mood to analyze it. |Not really. I'd rather eat dinner.| Well, dinner in the loosest sense, as Draco still wasn't sure what he could actually come up with.

|Then you shall not go.| Atropos sounded oddly smug at the proclamation. |After all, he gave you to _me_. You aren't his anymore.|

An icy chill ran down Draco's spine, the contrasting opposite to the nerves still tingling with heat on his forearm, and the awareness of exactly where he was, exactly _whose_ arms held him upright, less yielding than steel, hiding so many gruesome capabilities. The Dark Lord had indeedthrown him away to his newest pet creature and now that creature decreed that Draco would not join the other Death Eaters. Though part of him still felt it far too dangerous not to answer the Dark Lord's summons, the rest of him knew that it was probably far more dangerous not to cater to Atropos.

Atropos, who still held his arm in one hand, and was looking at the mark intently, as if daring it to flare again and cause his possession pain. When it did not, he leaned over the limb and his tongue flicked out, licking down Draco's arm from the top of the skull to the tip of the snake.

"Yuck!" Draco muttered, pulling his arm away on reflex. Atropos merely grinned at him and let go of the limb.

* * *

Even as Atropos moved out of the way to let Draco have his way in the meager kitchen, there was a restlessness about him, like something was still nagging at him that was unfinished. Or like a restless beast that had been caged. Yet, he did not broach the subject of the Dark Mark again.

The agitation grew slowly until Draco could feel it like a constant pressure in the back of his own mind, like an echo from Atropos' psyche to his own.

He wasn't surprised when, during the night, he woke to an empty bed. But where the agitation had been there was now a satisfied hum that lulled him back to sleep.

_to be continued..._

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


End file.
